


alone in the dark

by mnemememory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, spoilers for episode 69
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemememory/pseuds/mnemememory
Summary: Yasha is alone in the dark with monsters.Yasha is a monster.(post episode 69)





	alone in the dark

He wants something from her.

Even this deep, even this dark, Yasha isn’t stupid. She sees the way Obann’s eyes follow her every step, sees the way he doesn’t quite go to sleep at night. Yasha closes her eyes and refuses to dream. Everything seems so much easier in the dark.

The Laughing Hand leads the way to – somewhere. Yasha is walking, but she doesn’t know why. Going forward seems to be the correct option, so she does. Obann is watching her. Obann is always watching her.

The walls around them seem to shrink and expand with every exhale; Yasha breathes in dust and blows out smoke. There’s fire in her, somewhere, stoked and warm. She just can’t – quite –

“Orphan-maker,” Obann says, and he smiles. Yasha smiles back at him, cold.

The Laughing Hand doesn’t talk. The silence grates between them, sandpaper on skin. They’re walking, endlessly walking. Yasha resettles her swords across her shoulders, fingers inching along the hilts. Her nails catch on the worn leather of the Magician’s Judge and she trails down further, to the edge. Obann catches her hand.

“Be careful,” he says. “Don’t injure yourself. We still have a long way to go.”

“I know,” Yasha says. Her voice comes out wrong. “I won’t.”

Obann nods. The Laughing Hand stops to look at them with his wide, vacant grin, and then he turns to lumber away. Yasha’s skin itches along phantom injuries. All of her wants to cut him, just like all of her knows what a bad idea that would be. Obann seems to guess what she’s thinking, because he gives a small huff of laughter.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Orphan-maker,” he says, giving her a pat on the shoulder. Yasha shrugs him off and follows after their guide. Her feet burn. Everything feels heavy, the surrounding area humid and stiff. She’s so cold, though. Everything about her is so cold.

“Neither have you,” she says.

“Still so beautiful,” Obann says.

Yasha ignores him.

“And so cruel,” Obann says, stretching an arm comfortably over his head. “How we’ve missed you.”

The first time Yasha slept safe after entering the Empire, she was tucked tight in a tent with a snoring lavender Tiefling at her side. The caravans had been loaded down with injured personnel and broken tent-equipment, and Yasha had been walking non-stop for almost three days. Her feet ached something fierce, boots full of blood, and the frozen ground had seemed impossibly soft against her windblown skin.

“You’ll have to share a tent,” Gustav said. They were all tired. “It’s going to snow later in the evening, and I don’t want our best bouncer getting ill.”

“I’ll be fine outside,” Yasha said.

“That wasn’t a request, Yasha,” Gustav said.

Molly bounced up behind her, throwing a friendly arm around her neck and leaning heavily into her side. “You can share with me,” he said. “The twins decided I was too much trouble, Bo still won’t talk to me –”

“If you’d just _apologise_ ,” Gustav broke in, looking exasperated.

“– and quite frankly, I think Toya wants to kill me in my sleep.”

“That’s not an uncommon opinion,” Gustav said, but relented. “Yasha, looks like you’ve been volunteered.”

“I can sleep outside,” Yasha said.

“C’mon, it’ll be _fun_ – I can do your hair, we can gossip about our annoying co-workers –”

“Now would be a good time to remind you that we live in tents, which carry sound very well,” Gustav said. Then he shook his hands and started walking away. “Just don’t incite another riot.”

Molly pulled Yasha in the opposite direction. “You can help me set it up,” he said.

“I see,” Yasha said. “The real reason. You needed my help.”

“Guilty,” Molly said. “The ground is frozen solid. I can’t get the pegs in.”

Yasha sighed. “Okay.”

Inside the tent was low and cramped, the fabric walls doing very little to insulate against the bitter cold that seemed to permeate the very bones of Yasha’s body. She huddled into her blankets, listened to Molly’s even breathing, and was dead to the world in the span between one heartbeat and the next.

(The first time Yasha slept safe after entering the Dynasty, her room smelled of drying paint and her floorboards creaked with reassuring weight. She could hear every corner of the house from her own little space, listen to people laughing and yelling and sleeping.

There wasn’t a lavender Tiefling by her side, but there was a blue one).

“Where are we going?” Yasha says.

Obann glances back at her, yellow eyes boring into the back of her skull. Yasha’s arm instinctively goes to her back, to the hilt of her sword. After a few seconds of tense silence, Yasha’s arm unclenches and she breathes out.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Obann says. “I want it to be a surprise – not just for you.”

“You always did love games,” Yasha’s voice says.

Obann’s face is a picture of delight. “Games are what makes live worth living, Orphan-maker,” he says.

Yasha thinks about red eyes, about blue eyes, about the most beautiful eyes in the world. Yasha thinks about lying down on the muddy ground as her wife (her _wife_ ) lay down on top of her, smiling. Zuala leans down to kiss her nose.

“This is dangerous,” Yasha breathes.

Zuala smiles at her. She’s so beautiful. No matter how many times Yasha looks at her, Zuala is always so beautiful. “You’re what makes life worth living.”

Yasha reaches up to touch Zuala’s cheek, and she’s gone, and Yasha is alone in the dark with monsters. Yasha is a monster.

In the end, Yasha doesn’t say anything else to Obann. He waits a little while, but eventually seems to give up on any other sort of conversation. It’s for the best, Yasha tells herself. The silence is heavy, but not as heavy as the fear that seems to steep every word that lies flat on her tongue. Rage burns, distant. So very distant.

“Neither of you are very good conversationalists,” Obann complains.

In the back of Yasha’s head, thunder growls.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so fricking behind, guys, but i was watching episode 70 and that conversation with the Traveler about the Stormlord *ruined* me. Yasha come back we miss you. please.


End file.
